Isosceles
by equalsMCsquare
Summary: When love triangles don't break the way they're supposed to. Will Gale have the patience to get through to Peeta, or will the damaged boy become one of the many casualties of the war? Rating will be upped in later chapters for slash.
1. Seeing Red

I remember seeing him for the first time.

Well, for the first time…the second time.

Anything before Snow held me at the Capital doesn't count, so even if I saw him before, which everyone assures me I did, this is the only first time that matters.

Only problem is, will he let me make a first impression…a second time?

Battle was so imminent, and I was told that my mental health was crucial to our side's win. But I can't concentrate with that Everdeen girl around. The objective part of my mind understands that I have no reason to worry, but the animalistic side of me goes into full alert when she enters the room. I smell her before I hear her, I hear her before I see her. And when I see her, my body overrides my brain. I want to warn her before that happens, but it always happens too quickly. I see red, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up from sedatives on a bed.

The first time I met him was when they decided I was well enough to no longer blackout around her, but she still required the quickest, strongest fighter on the ship to protect her. I couldn't help it; I scorned her for it. The supposed face of the good fight could hardly face me, let alone masses of whatever Snow had in store from them. She is too delicate, can hardly imagine what could exist. Her naïveté wrinkled my nose as much as anything else about her.

"And what, may I ask, is bothering you?" He spoke. To me. He spoke to me. In a patronizing tone, with the air of one watching a fish pitifully flail itself to death on dry land. My attention was immediately diverted, my nose and my ears and my eyes cleansed. Though I hated my show of subservience, I couldn't help but beg him silently to continue.

I could see in his eyes that I must have startled him by not rising to the bait. I surprised myself a bit too. The one who did rise to the bait though, was she.

"Lay off of him Gale, please. For me."

How dare she presume to stand up for me. I began to see red again, but this time, it was translucent, and faded as quickly as it appeared. I growled at her, but the restraint of my savage was apparent to everyone in the room. I was proud. Not for having spared her, but for having controlled myself in front of him.

They buzzed around me for a while. Neither spoke a word, for which I was grateful. They left, but I knew she'd be back sooner than I would have liked.

So long as she brought him, I wouldn't mind in the slightest.


	2. Challenged

"He isn't the same boy you used to know, Katniss!"

"But he IS, Gale! Why can't you give him a chance? There's no one who could've survived through what Snow put Peeta through."

This is an old argument between us, we've had it frequently since Peeta's arrival. But we just walk in circles every time it's brought up, and after every row, I feel us torn further apart.

As if that's really even possible anymore.

"Katniss, the only way you'll be able to save him is by dealing with him as he presents himself _now_; not by trying to change him back."

"But Gale, this isn't him. He doesn't need to be like this. He—"

"But he is. Stop living in denial and actually try to help that boy strapped on the bed."

She stopped short. To say she completely crumpled would be an exaggeration, but a look of hopelessness seeped into her eyes, and her face muscles sagged. She looked tired. Once, I would've done anything to keep that look out of her eyes. Now, I feel a sick sort of triumph. Then, a crease appeared between her eyes, and her lips set into a thin line.

"Fine. He can be your responsibility now. Why don't you try out your compassion and patience, and see if you can do a better job than every medic in this damn building," she hissed. Then she spun on her heel, her braid neatly swinging just past my nose, and stormed out.

I was stunned. What exactly was I supposed to do with such damage? If it had been up to me, we would have left Peeta at Snow's palace as a casualty of war. She fought like a wildcat to have him brought back, and now she's dumping him off on me?

But as it stands, I've never been one to back down from a challenge.


	3. My Game

"Peeeeeeeeeeeeeta. Hey, Peeta!"

I groan and try to roll over and back to sleep.

"Woah, not so fast. Sleep later. Like, sometime during the 22 hours a day when I'm _not _with you."

I glared daggers at Gale.

"Though from what I hear, you're not doing much of it then either. Which is odd, as you seem to pass out as soon as I let you," he mused.

Loathe though I was to admit it, I find it easiest to fall asleep when Gale was in the room with me. I toss for hours before finally passing out, and even when I do find some peace, it's usually cut short by Snow-induced nightmares. I think I wake up screaming, but no one stays in this wing of this building to hear it.

Which brings me to Gale. Though no one's explicitly told me so (hell, when does anyone explicitly tell me anything these days?) I think he's actually been ordered by some higher up to ensure my sanity returns.

That, or he's forced everyone else to stay away from me just for kicks. I wouldn't put it past him.

"What now?" I hope my disgruntled and slightly venomous tone will tell him that I'm not in the mood for whatever it is he has planned for tonight.

No such luck.

He ignores me and retrieves a box from his satchel. It rattles irritatingly and I gnash my teeth at the intrusive noise, but Gale just grins. From my irritation, a spark of pride unexpectedly surfaces at his reaction.

I continue behaving slightly off-put, but a part of me was getting curious.

"This is a game we play in between strategy meetings and battles," he informs me.

"Your subtle attempt at making me feel more useless than I already do is pathetic. Let's skip the chitchat, and you can get out of here sooner," I drawl in the most disinterested voice I could manage.

His eyebrows hitch upwards minutely.

"Sorry," he says softly. He clears his throat and continues in his normal brusque tone, "How about this; I'll agree not to talk about the war, if you'll put up with me talking about day-to-day life up top."

I'm impressed by his manipulation of the conversation. Every day for the past several weeks, Gale attempts small talk with me, but I mostly respond with grunts, and we eventually lapse into silence. Somewhere along the way, the silences transitioned from awkward to comfortable, and I wasn't anxious for them to end.

But the part of me that favored silence was overridden by a newly emergent part of me that seemed eager to please the older boy. This part was more vocal, but barely.

"Does that include talking about Katniss?" I hear myself ask. I'm not pleased to hear a petulant tone in my voice.

"Probably."

I think about it. Leaving me to ponder in silence, Gale sets up the game he brought on my bedside table.

"Fine."

He doesn't look up, but I can tell he heard me from the upward twitch of his lips.

The feeling of pride wells up inside me again, stronger and more confident this time.

"What do you call this game then?" I ask.

"Chess."


End file.
